Subordinates on a Plane
by Ebonei
Summary: When Alyssa heeds her mother's warning and goes into hiding by taking a flight to America, the Subordinates must follow her and bring her back. Problem; how are five psycho killers going to survive the trip without everyone losing their minds?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note; **To be honest, I've never seen 'Snakes on a Plane'. My friend and I spun off the title because it seemed witty, and I expanded upon the idea to make it into a full story. Although I'm mainly writing this as its sole author, my friend has given me suggestions to put into the story, in which all credit for those ideas go to her.

Also, I am a shameless fan of pointless testosterone contests. You'll clearly see that, especially in this, the first chapter.

I don't own Clock Tower or Snakes on a Plane. Not selling for profit. I adore feedback.

**Chapter 1 – "But I Thought You Said, . . ."**

"I apologize, sir, but I'm afraid that you'll have to remove the gas mask before boarding the plane."

". . . What?" the Corroder gaped from behind his costume, staring down the flight attendant with an unseen quizzical expression upon him face; quizzical because, as he cast a glance over his shoulder, he observed the other four people accompanying him. His attention was caught by the largest of the group, a huge, heavy-set man whose face was disguised by a dark hood. Corroder turned back to the attendant and motioned to the large man with a subtle wave of his hand. "He's wearing a damn executioner's mask and you didn't have a problem with that."

"An executioner is an occupation, and we're not about to separate a man with an accessory used within the business area," the attendant shrugged her shoulders. Dismayed expression obscured by his costume, Corroder raised a brow and let out a frustrated huff through the filter. He leaned forward, adjusting himself directly in front of the woman's face, the lenses of the mask catching in the light. It was a deliberate attempt to frighten her, although, much to his continued discomposure, the attendant kept that perky, un-caring smile.

". . . You do know that, . . ." his nasally voice turned a more darker tone, irritated and flabbergasted by her reactions. ". . . A gas mask is used in the business area too, right? Here, I'll even provide you with some examples—sewer workers, soldiers, and policemen. Therefore, according to your little 'rules' I should be allowed to keep this on during the entire flight."

"And which out of those occupations do you belong to, sir?" was her immediate response. No break or hesitation, as if it were some mechanical reaction she had programmed into herself. By now she had returned flipping through stacks of paper, barely giving him any attention. With jaw dropped, Corroder merely stared at her.

". . . None of them," he replied after a long moment, and she looked up again. The way her features were displayed showed that she was shocked that he was still standing there, and she shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

"Then I'm sorry,"

"But—!"

"Ah! There you are, Johnny-boy!" his protest was cut short as an arm slung over one of his shoulders, his body rocked by the force. He let loose a shock-ridden gasp as he turned his head to observe the attacker—another man, garbed in a red, sleeveless vest, which opened down the middle so that his muscular torso appeared in plain view. The intruder's legs were barely covered by massively tight short-shorts of a khaki color, placing great emphasis upon the muscles there. His ebony-black hair was tied up in a ponytail, although he also wore a braid across his left shoulder, both things kept in place by red ribbon.

In generalization, he was fixed up quite flamboyantly; the only portions of his body even slightly obscured were his eyes. They were blocked by flashy, overdone sunglasses, which probably reflected light just as playfully as his real vision did. Yet despite all of this, the man was a starkly pale, his skin nearly white, and clashed with the colorful brightness of his attire. Corroder stood still a moment.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Corroder breathed, not exactly caught off guard by the appearance of him, but still a bit _curious_. The man giggled slightly, giving his companion another rough, buddy-buddy shake.

"Come on, John-John, it's only the newest, hottest tourist look around. I'm setting trends here—ladies _and_ gentlemen will be gathering from far and wide to get a piece of this," the intruder backed off a bit, fully displaying his figure by stretching out his arms and turning to show the rest of the clothing. Flame designs burst from the back-center, and the man glanced over his shoulder, smiling deviously. ". . . I'm debating whether or not it would be a good idea to get an ear-stud or something. What do you think? Perhaps a tattoo?"

"Ralph, I think you should shut-up," Corroder grumbled. "I'm having enough accessory issues as it is. I don't want to involve myself in your little game of 'dress-up-in-the-stupidest-most-attention-grabbing-attire-ever'."

"Accessory issues? . . .You mean fashion problems?" This earned a fake pout, and Ralph faced him again. Completely overlooking Corroder's mocking words, his voice broke out in a singsong tune, completely breaking the guise of false melancholy. "My Johnny Lies Over the Ocean, why didn't you just find me? Find me?"

Yet before he could properly answer, Ralph approached him and grabbed a portion of the fabric covering Corroder's right arm. Scissorman observed the cloth intently, his fingers taking in the texture, eyes skating over the appearance and overall mood of it. ". . . I mean, I can understand what you're talking about. I never really cared for this outfit of yours—it looks like something you'd wash radioactive, rust-covered plates with. Now that I think of it, you probably have, haven't you? Honestly, though, its not a lady pleaser. Which brings me to the fact that those boots and gloves are horrendously filthy—"

"—_Shut up!_" Corroder basically shouted, clenching his fists and wrenching himself away from the man. Though Ralph's pride obviously took no harm, as the man just laughed as the Corroder looked on in disgust. Folding his arms, the fool leaned back on a nearby wall, eyes dancing with a cheerful light.

"My, my, quite a temper we have today, hmm?" Ralph chided. "And despite your harsh words, I think I will still help you if you simply explain the situation."

"I don't think it's a case of whether I need your help," Corroder grumbled, making motions with his arms as he spoke, "its whether I want it or not."

"Excuse me, gentlemen," the voice of the female attendant interrupted them. They both sharply turned to face her, and her expression read as completely irritated that they were crowding her workspace. She set aside a pile of paperwork before giving them each a stern glare of equal dislike. "Please don't get the wrong idea, but I really do need you to relocate yourselves, . . . And you—"

She waved her hand at Corroder. "—Remove the mask and you may board the plane. Simple as that."

"Oh, so it's the mask that's the problem! I should have guessed!" Ralph exclaimed, his attention turning specifically to the costume piece that obscured Corroder's face. "John-boy, why give the charming lady such a difficult time? Though, come to think of it, I've never seen your face."

"I'm entitled to the privacy of my face, thank you very much."

"According to her rules, no you're not," the fool approached his companion once more, searching curiously into the two lenses. "Come on, show us. Don't make me take the silly thing off for you. I bet there is quite the charmer underneath it."

There was a long moment of all three of them staring the other two down, and the only sounds were of that of the people scurrying in the background and Corroder's breathing. Eventually, the man garbed in green let go a heavy sigh, and placed his two hands on the sides of his mask. Given a split second, he lifted upwards on the thing. Ralph hastily jumped back and the attendant froze, her eyes wide. Corroder narrowed his eyes. "Happy now?"

". . . On second thought, you should keep the mask on," they said simultaneously. The acid-man gladly obliged to their request and replaced it with a huff of relief.

"Hey, Ralph!" a female voice called out to the two men. In a hurry, a moving stack of bags and gift-boxes stumbled in their direction, and laughing, it halted beside them. Coco didn't respond, yet Ralph's expression visibly brightened, and he helped take a few bags into his arms, uncovering a girl underneath. She was as wildly dressed as the man assisting her; she was decorated from head to toe with expansive sets of necklaces, rings, and bracelets. "Brother, you've got to see all of these things I got—here, check this out!"

Without hesitation, she unloaded her arms to drop everything, and her hands went to a pocket upon her skirt. Fumbling with the contents, she retrieved what she was looking for and held it out to her sibling. He took it and looked it over—it was small and black, rectangular in shape, and had a variety of buttons all over it. On one side of the front was a lens-looking thing, and Ralph rubbed his thumb over the surface before looking up to give his sister a quizzical look.

"It's interesting, Jemima, but what does it do?" he blinked, handing the device back over to her. She giggled, fingers punching at a few buttons before holding the thing up to her face, pointing the lens towards him. She pressed her index finger down, and given a moment, the thing suddenly lit up in a second. Stunned by it, Ralph stepped backwards slightly while rubbing his eyes, almost stumbling into Corroder. ". . . Whoa! What was that?"

"You know, I'm not actually sure," Jemima giggled, pressing the button again, this time having the lens aimed towards Corroder. The light reflected upon the glass of his mask, and he, just as Ralph had done, backed up a bit in a blind confusion. The girl laughed again. "Its fun, though. I think the dude who was selling them called it a cell phone? It can take these things called photos, . . . we'll have to get you one and, . . . Oh, you should see this!"

Skipping over to her brother's side, Jemima actually 'flipped' part of the object upwards to reveal a whole new entire set of buttons, and she shoved the phone into her brother's hands. He turned the thing upside down, inquisitive, leaving his sister to giggle at his curiosity. After a moment of watching him stare at the thing from various angles, she pointed at the assortment of buttons that had numbers on them. "Just press those and you'll see what I'm talking about, you silly."

He gave her a look, as if he didn't quite understand, but then started punching away at the buttons with his thumb. Suddenly, as he gave a brief pause, the little device began to make a loud 'ringing' sound, and Ralph almost dropped the object in surprise. Yet Jemima motioned for him to calm down, nodding, to tell him that this was what she wanted to happen. After the third time of the noise, it stopped as suddenly as it had started, and instead _another_ sound began to project from the thing;

". . . Hello?"

Ralph lifted the phone in front of his face. ". . . Hullo?"

"Who is this?" the voice responded. It was a deep, gruff voice, like a man's, and its tone was sleepy, as if it had just been disturbed from a nap. Ralph blinked, glanced at his sister, and then grinned from ear to ear.

"Ralph Burroughs," he provided confidently. "And my twin, Jemima Burroughs."

"That's nice, Mr. Burroughs—"

"No, please call me Ralph. Or, Master Ralph, . . . That one always rolls off the tongue better, don't you think?"

". . . Right, Mr. Burroughs, . . . Why the hell are you calling me?"

"Me? I wasn't calling you anything. I thought we were having a lovely chat," Ralph curled his lip, smile folding a little.

"Okay, seriously, I don't know who you are," the voice suddenly turned very serious and cold toned. "So either state your business or I'm hanging up."

"Well, if you must know, my sister and I work together in the dungeons of my Lord's massive estate. We're the executioners—top of the league torturers. Personally, I've killed around, . . ." Ralph pondered for a moment, mentally counting the victims, ". . . thirty-seven people. I remember them all too. You should have seen the one. He was spurting blood everywhere from anywhere on his body! But that's not important right now. My business as of current involves my small group of friends and me. We're own our way to– Uh, hullo? Hullo?"

The sound coming from the phone changed again, this time to just a flat static. Ralph glared at it, dumbfounded by the sudden switch, and then observed the screen of the thing.

_Call Ended._

". . . I wasn't calling him anything!" the jester protested at the object, absently smoothing his finger over the buttons. With a small pout on his lips, he continued to read the other words that the thing projected. Jemima had taken to glancing over his shoulder, also looking quite confounded at the small device.

"Hey, what is that word?" she asked, pointing at the screen.

_Redial._

"I 'unno. Though we'll soon find out, won't we?" Ralph giggled, pressing the button that initiated the command. The ringing noise amplified once more, and then, just as it had happened, the voice reappeared.

"Hello?"

"Ah, its you again!"

". . . What?"

"Its me, Ralph Burroughs, remember? Master Ralph Burroughs of Burroughs Manor?"

"I thought I hung up on you."

"I'm not sure what that means, but at least now we can continue where we left off and—"

"No we can't, because I don't know you. I don't want to know you either, because you keep bothering me from my nap," the volume of the voice increased, ". . . furthermore, you're obviously insane or just completely stupid if you can't understand the phrases 'calling' or 'hanging up'. Really, those are just standards in society. So, Mr. Burroughs, it was _not_ a pleasure to talk to you, and I just hope that you never call back again."

"I'm not calling you anyth—!"

The static interrupted his complaint, but without hesitation, Ralph hit the redial button again.

"Hello?"

"—We're going to America to go find this young girl, Alyssa Hamilton. Maybe you've heard of her? Well, my Lord Burroughs wants to kidnap her in order to tear out her heart and drink her blood, except its sort of difficult to do if she's in a different continent entirely, . . ." Ralph's face contorted into one of deep contemplation, ". . . Maybe I should start off the story differently—"

"_Why the hell do you keep calling me_? I never asked you to explain any of this! Really, if you don't stop, I'll be getting the authorities on your ass, . . ."

"—You see, we didn't think her mother would be smart enough to warn Alyssa a week before her fifteenth birthday—that whole blood-drinking thing doesn't work until that day. Also, we didn't think Alyssa would be smart enough to actually heed her mother's warning anyway, but it turns out that the young lady _did, _and she took a plane out of England as fast as she possibly could. So we've got to go after her, although its Chopper that actually has the whole plan of attack set up—"

"Chop what? You're letting a motorcycle tell you what to do?"

"No, you silly boy! He's a subordinate, just like me," Ralph's voice dropped to a whisper, "his actual name is Harold Powell, but I hate addressing him by that. Its this whole dominance thing, since everyone knows that _I _should be leader."

". . . So why are you taking orders from him?"

"Simple. Pissing him off by ignoring him is so much more fun. Though one day I'll—"

"Wait a minute, why am I still talking to you?"

"Because I'm so good at carrying conversations. Comes from years of practice in the manor and—"

"You two! Scissortwins!" at the sound of a new voice, Ralph quickly snapped the phone shut and glanced upwards. Though, seeing who it was who addressed them, Scissorman quickly threw on a smile, giving the device back to his sister. Jemima flipped it back open and snapped a quick photo of their guest.

A tall, muscular man stood at the same height as Ralph, their gazes locking in an instant. Yet while Ralph's expression was cheerful, the other man's was not. Also quite unlike Ralph, the man was garbed completely in black— tight leather clothing and chains covering his body. On his baldhead he wore a helmet with a couple of spikes protruding from the top of it, and on one side of his nose was a small, studded piercing.

"Chopper! We were just talking about you, my friend," Ralph greeted him smugly, bending over in a short bow. "And just so you know, that outfit looks wonderful on you."

"Off of it, Scissorman. You're just flattering yourself because _you _picked it out for me," Chopper frowned further.

"Is that it? Sometimes my wonderful sense of style surprises me so much that I forget that I'm the artist behind the masterpiece—its funny! For a moment there you scared me into thinking that you'd picked yourself something and actually had it turn out looking this good," the jester's dark eyes glittered, tone jeering in a sarcastic way.

"I look _stupid_," he growled back, his hand suddenly lashing out to grab the collar of Ralph's shirt. Chopper hauled the fool closer to him before continuing. "How is _this _'fitting in'? For as long as we've waited, I haven't seen another person dressed like me. Be honest, _Sci-sor-man, _you made me up like this simply because you _could._"

"Aw, Chops, that hurts. Right here, . . ." Ralph put on the showman's act, placing his right hand near his heart and giving the area a gentle pat. He didn't even seem concerned about the fact that his leader could easily take a fist to his face, his voice as mocking as ever, merely increasing every time he spoke. ". . . Do you really think I would do something like that to _you?_"

"Do I even have to answer that?" Chopper shoved Ralph aside, causing the jester to cackle with unbearable glee.

"It helps you stand out!" Ralph exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. "Its wonderful. Spectacular. You're starting new trends, Chopper."

"Ralph," Chopper narrowed his eyes. "I am _not _you. I am _not _amused. So why don't you just take your sister and go find Sledgehammer?"

"Because," he replied, grinning, "that would be too easy."

"Ralph! Move it, or else you're going to know exactly what it feels like to go through the propeller of a high-speed jet _while _it's in motion," the leader of the subordinates growled, snagging the other man by the sleeve and shoving him in the direction that he wanted him to go.

This time, Ralph didn't even let slip another comment, finding it too difficult to be able to, his breathe occupied by laughter. Making a dismissive motion with a hand, the jester glanced at his sister, speaking to her with a smile kissing every word with mocking joy. ". . . Dear sister, I beckon thee to walk with me, since it is the thing the almighty Chopper does command of us! For it is well known across the land that what he doth speak be law, and woe to those who betray and forsake him!"

Catching on to her brother's game, she came up beside him, her laughter to match the strength of his. In glee she repeated her sibling's words. "Woe to those who betray and forsake him!"

Chopper and Corroder watched them leave, both giving the impression of being slightly relieved at the departure of their unfortunate comrades. It wasn't until the twins had vanished completely into the crowds that Chopper finally turned to his companion, scowling underneath the shadow of his helmet.

"Looks like he didn't get to you," the leader commented, remarking upon the fact that Corroder was still dressed in his usual attire.

"He almost did, . . ." the man shrugged in response, now moving his attention to glaring at the various packages that Jemima had left strewn at his feet. "Although, how did Scissorfreak convince you to even _consider _letting him help you?"

Chopper narrowed his gaze. "I'm not even going to answer that, . . . now, where did you get all of this stuff?"

"Its not mine. Scissorwoman got it, although I'm not sure where from. She sort of just paraded over here with it all in her arms and, . . ." Corroder skimmed through the contents of one of the bags and ending up pulling out a piece of lingerie. He hurriedly stuffed it back. ". . . We can question her later when they come back with Robert."

"They aren't going to come back with Robert."

Corroder glanced curiously up at Chopper. "What? Didn't you just, . . . ?"

"Yes, I told them to go find him," Chopper explained. "Yet I set them off in the wrong direction. I already know where Robert is, and told him to join us once I had gotten rid of the twins, . . ."

". . . They are pesky, aren't they?" a gruff voice appeared from behind them, but neither of the two men flinched. The two of them casually turned, casting an upward glance at their newest guest. It was the same man from before; the one who adorned an executioner's hood. He stood tall over the both of them, arms crossed, his twisted lips offering the makings of a devilish smirk.

"Obviously. Too bad we can't do this without them, . . . not to mention getting Burroughs thoroughly pissed at us for abandoning his '_precious Scissortwins_' at an airport in a time period that they are definitely _not_ familiar with, . . ." Chopper waved his hand dismissively, getting annoyed that each and every conversation somehow wove its way into connection with the twins—with Ralph. Even the _thought _of the flamboyantly clad man made his skin crawl with anxiety to take an axe to the Scissorman's throat. ". . . Anyway, let's get back to actual business here. Robert, is everything packed and being boarded onto our flight?"

"As we speak," Sledgehammer confirmed.

"Including our weapons?"

"Absolutely."

The leader nodded his approval, reaching into the pocket of his leather pants, removing some slips of paper from within. Without a word, he handed each of them a slip.

". . . Don't lose these. We need them to get onto the plane—at least, to get onto the plane _legally_. Normally it wouldn't be an issue, but Burroughs specifically instructed that we try not to draw too much attention—"

"Too late for that," Corroder interrupted. Chopper shot him a look before continuing.

"—As I was saying, . . . We don't want authorities to grow overly suspicious of us, so we're just going to have to board as everyone else does. Hopefully by blending in as best as we can, we'll do okay until we finally reach The United States. We can worry about what happens afterwards when we get to that point."

"Just so I've got everything straight, . . ." Sledgehammer started, ". . . Where exactly is our final destination? Wasn't it something like Kokomo?"

"Robert, Kokomo is a city in central _India_. So its no where near where Miss Hamilton is headed," Corroder corrected, looking to Chopper for validation of his statement. With a sigh, Chopper continued the explanation.

"We'll start it off from the fact that Alyssa boarded a plane, . . ." he responded. "She's on her way to a state called _Colorado_. That's where her father's parents live."

"Phillip's parents? I assumed they kicked off long ago."

"Well, apparently, they didn't. In all actuality, they are alive and wealthy, . . . they only 'lost contact' with the rest of the Hamilton line for getting their son involved in such nonsense. He must have told them about Nancy's inane ramblings about Rooders and Subordinates, and they immediately labeled her as insane, and would have nothing more to do with her or anyone on that side of the family. _Especially _after he died," Chopper took a moment to laugh, probably enjoying the thought of how Alyssa's father had perished. "Alyssa must have begged on her knees for them to take her back into their oh-so-loving arms."

"Excuse me, sir! Madame! Please get down from there!" a panicked voice caught all of their attentions, each of them turning in the direction of the commotion. Around a tall water fountain a thicker crowd of people had grouped, their heads craned back to look near the top of the thing. The three of them squinted their eyes, a bit too far back to make anything out clear enough to distinguish what was actually going on. To their horror, or at least, to their displeasure, two very familiar voices called out in response.

"Hey, hey! Jemima, look at the silly man telling us what to do."

"Oh, I see him! Smile, good sir, for the cellphone!"

Chopped shoved his way through the amount of people that had accumulated to see the twins up on top of the fountain; a fountain shaped like a flying bird that allowed plenty of space for two people to stand without getting drenched. Standing on the head of it, smiling across the width of his face was Ralph. The Scissorman's eyes gleamed with amusement, staring in the direction of a man dressed in uniform, obviously the one who'd been yelling at them to remove themselves from off the fountain. Jemima stood not to far off from her brother, peeking out from behind a wing, holding her cellphone and snapping photos almost constantly at all of the people looking back at them.

A pent up frustration built behind Chopper's next words, fed up with the antics. Pushing further through the crowd, he made his way to the fountain edge, his eyes burning with fury at the disobedient twins. "Scissorman, Scissorwoman! Get down here now!"

"Chopper!" Ralph replied cheerfully over the sounds of the fountain water, obviously overlooking the fact that he had just been given a direct order. To prove this, the jester gave a light wave, smirking in the fact that he _knew _he was pissing his leader off. "So delightful for you to come fetch us! Sorry about forgetting to retrieve dear Robert, even though Jemima and I are quite certain that entire routine of yours was just an act for us to go away."

"Don't lie to us either!" Jemima scolded, though her voice remained happy and delighted at the attention they were receiving.

"Silly Chopper who thought we wouldn't notice, hmm?" Ralph finished, leaning his back against the edge of one of the wings, placing his sunglasses on, white teeth gleaming in the light. "Silly, simple, _Harold Powell._"

Chopper felt his fists absently clench. ". . . Come down here and say that to my face, _Ralph Burroughs._"

The atmosphere went noticeably still at the sounding of a challenge, bystanders averting their gaze between the two men, both of whom merely stared each other down. Though the moment didn't sustain itself long. After about a minute of dead silence, except from the occasional oblivious person passing through, Ralph took a few steps forward upon the head of the bird, until he was standing at the very edge of it, removing the sunglasses once more. His scowling lips soon transformed back into their normal smile, . . . and the Scissorman bowed at his adversary.

In a fluid motion, Ralph leaped into the air, tossing away the glasses as he did. That simply vanished into a cloud of confetti as he spiraled in the air, the rest of his attire changing as he did. Ruffles of white appeared at his collar, and a flame colored vest replaced the red shirt he'd been wearing moments before. Jeans magically shaped themselves into tights, and his shoes grew into knee-high boots.

By the time Ralph had landed feet first in the water, his outfit had transformed in its entirety.

"Oh, Highly Esteemed Leader of the Subordinates, the _strongest_ of us all, . . ." Ralph teased while beckoning Chopper to join him. ". . . Show me then. Show me _why _I should listen to you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note; **If you haven't guessed already, this is pretty much a dead story—here is the remainder of the story that I wrote before I lost interest.

I'm thinking about starting a new, more serious CT3 fanfic, but first I want to know exactly what I want to happen in it before I start writing. I know it'll have to do with reaching into the darker parts of the Subordinate world.

**Chapter 2 **

Chopper stepped up onto the edge of the fountain, driven by obvious anger, preparing to step into the water. Before he could, though, someone grabbed his arm and prevented him from going any further. The man turned his head to find that Corroder had latched his fingers into the leather of his sleeve, the gasman tugging at it in a slight, nervous panic.

"Don't do it. You said it yourself—we're trying not to draw attention," he said hurriedly. ". . . Despite how too late that is already, it's not a good idea to make it worse. You know he's just trying to get under your skin."

The axeman pulled his arm away, scowling, lips forming into a tight grimace. Considering his companion's words, Chopper paused a brief moment, and then glanced back behind him. Ralph still stood where he had landed, arms crossed, and looking positively smug. Chopper narrowed his eyes at the jester, who, obviously knowing the conflict his leader was experiencing, laughed.

"Harold. Haaroold. _Haaarooold. _Don't tell me you're just going to back down_,_" Ralph clicked his tongue and displayed his teeth. ". . . I'm_ waiting._"

". . . Don't," Corroder warned again, but it was apparent that Chopper was no longer listening.

The leader climbed into the fountain, water up to his knees, and waded towards the Scissorman, whose grin clearly widened in joy. He bowed again, eyes glittering happily.

". . . The rules. No weapons, but everything else, . . . _goes,_" Scissorman announced his game, but given a split second after the rules were proclaimed, his leg suddenly swung around to kick Chopper in the side of the head. Chopper ducked down, unsurprised by the attack, and countered by throwing a punch. His adversary only giggled as he moved out of the way of it, although he could clearly hear the force of the fist grazing by his ear. He bent down and aimed an uppercut directly into his leader's gut, in which Chopper stumbled back slightly, water splashing up around him as Ralph continued to toss random punches at him while he was taken aback.

After dodging one of them, Chopper turned and shoved hard into Ralph's chest with his shoulder, knocking the breath out of him. Scissorman took a few steps back, stumbling over his own feet, and eventually lost his balance. He fell into the water, landing on his backside, hissing. Yet he didn't stay down long; his hands went to the bottom of the fountain, pushing onto the rock. It provided him with the momentum to get back up, just in time to kick his left leg underneath Chopper's jaw. The axeman slammed into the statue decorating the middle of the fountain, and from above he could hear the excited cheering of Jemima, shouting things having to do with her brother's imminent victory. It was enough of a distraction that Chopper almost didn't get out of the way of Ralph's next attack, as he spun away to see the jester's knuckles dig into the concrete.

Chopper took the chance to knock Ralph over as the jester was occupied withdrawing his fist, his leg swiping horizontally to strike the man below the knees. Ralph's stance buckled, but before he hit the ground, Chopper grasped his hair and pulled back, lifting Ralph to his feet. He then forcibly turned the man's body in order to grind his fist into the side of Ralph's face, knocking him away again. Chopper stopped his assault as Ralph clearly gasped to catch his breath, his face bleeding where he'd been struck, . . . yet, without warning, Scissorman adjusted his head to glare back at his leader—his expression was nothing less than clearly insane, smile cracking his face in half. He sputtered through a grisly laugh, standing up straight again.

"That all you got?" he cackled. "You disappoint me_, Great Leader of the Subordinates, _and I'd _cry_ if it weren't so _damn funny!_"

Then, in an instant, Ralph _vanished_. Chopper blinked, glancing around for the jester, but his absence was not long lasting. Water splashed around him in an almost geyser-like fashion as Ralph's running feet struck across the surface, circling around his foe.

"Quit jerking your chain, Scissorman," Chopper called out, but Ralph obviously didn't care for his words. His evasion of the axeman continued, laughing as he did, high-pitched and echoing in the whirlwind. With a heaving sigh, Chopper stretched slightly, before taking off in a high-speed run as well—it didn't take long to find Scissorman now that their pace matched, and the leader gave chase, closing in so that he stood next to his adversary.

Ralph's head was turned to face him, and the smile that the jester bore probably would have highly disturbed anyone other than Chopper. A smooth, low cackle breathed through the Scissorman's lips. "So, decided to join me on a little run? I almost feel privileged, . . . perhaps if I didn't hate you, . . ."

"If you don't cut it out this instant, . . ." Chopper warned darkly, narrowing his gaze.

"Mm? Is that a threat I hear?" Ralph fluttered his eyelashes towards his leader. "I'm _positively_ _shaking_ in my boots."

Meanwhile, back in the crowd, Corroder and Sledgehammer had gathered themselves off into a secluded area of the room. They only had to turn around again to see the fight going on behind them, but distracted by the need to get the quarrel to end, the two men didn't occupy themselves by simply becoming another couple of bystanders. Besides, hearing it was enough for them to know that, if they didn't do something soon, things were going to turn out worse than they already were.

"Robert," Corroder addressed. "We've got to distract everyone so Harold can get out of there."

"But how? I mean, you're dressed as a total psycho killer, and I'm in executioners garb!" Sledgerhammer protested in return. "If that isn't distracting enough in itself, then what is?"

". . . I'm not exactly sure myself, but I'm for certain that if we can hold this crowd's attention long enough Harold can finish the rest himself—Ralph's just acting up to get or give some sort of show; he's not so stupid as to think he'd actually make a very good leader. Once the spotlight is off of him, he'll submit, at least for a little while," Corroder frowned beneath his mask, thinking of what misfortunes lay in wait after they stopped this one. ". . . Do you think there is any way to get to Jemima?"

Robert glanced behind him to see where the Scissorwoman was currently standing. She still perched herself atop the fountain, amusing herself with taking various photos of the fight, and then occasionally halting in order to cheer on her brother. Sledgehammer shrugged his shoulders, looking at Corroder once more. "More likely not. She probably wouldn't want to leave her brother, let alone a good performance. Why?"

". . . Never mind. It was a bad plan anyway. Involved the use of one of her powers, . . . but, . . . "

"Wait! I've got an idea!" Robert suddenly interrupted, grabbing one of Corroder's gloved hands and dragging him towards the crowd.

Back at the fountain, the two men were still playing what certainly could be called a round of 'tag, you're it!'.

"So, are we going to do this all day?" Ralph yawned, his voice completely casual as he twisted around to run backwards, arms posed behind his head. "I'm almost bored—thought you might put up more of a fight."

"Why do you have to be acting like this _now_?" Chopper growled back, clenching his fists as the two made another sharp turn across the water. It seemed like a never-ending game; both men were obviously determined to proclaim themselves as the winner for the little duel.

Suddenly, without prominent forewarning, a loud 'BRRRZZZT' sound tore through the air somewhere in the crowd. It was enough of a shock that Chopper and Ralph halted, standing in the water, trying to stare off into the mass of people in attempt to locate the noise that had interrupted them. The noise was constant—a loud humming that cut through the silence which had accumulated over the bystanders. A couple of gasps caught the attention of the two men as some people started making more of a fuss than the others, jumping back in response to whatever startled them.

"Robert, this wasn't my idea of a distraction!" the high, terror pitched shouts of Jonathan were just barely audible over the roar of three buzzing chainsaws. Chopper and Ralph stared in slight astonishment as they finally made out the sight of Robert juggling the power tools _plus _the Corroder at the same time. Though Ralph's expression quickly mulled into one of absolute amusement, that manic smile spreading across his face as they observed their companions.

While everyone else was watching the two men now posing as a distraction, Chopper took his chance. With a more forceful step, he leapt forwards at Ralph, wrapping his arms around the jester and tackling him down into the water. Ralph struggled against him for a moment, but then eventually fell purposely limp, grin wide.

"Good show, good show," he giggled, his head barely over the surface of the water. Chopper merely rolled his eyes, giving no verbal response, but instead hauled Ralph up and over his shoulder. Scissorman made no complaint, and actually looked smugger than ever as Chopper bolted out of the vicinity of the fountain, passing the distracted crowd. Though he didn't exactly make the trip any easier, playfully kicking his legs and staring at his leader through the corners of his narrow eyes. As he twirled a finger in his hair, Ralph laughed.

"My, my. I already knew I'm irresistible, but I wasn't aware that you were so desperate to have me," he crooned, the light in his eyes dancing with delight. Once again, Chopper did not speak, but instead made a sharp turn to the right, heading towards the restroom. By now, a few onlookers had spotted the pair and recognized them as the two fighters. In a hurry they pointed, trying to shout over the sound of the buzzing chainsaws in an attempt to alert the still searching authorities. Most of their calls didn't spark any attention, but a few other people noticed as well, and the crowd slowly began to notice the figures.

In stupid heroics, some of them tried to catch up with them, but Chopper carried on faster, completely unconcerned about being captured by a couple of average bystanders. While this was going on, Ralph, entertained and amused, sang. "_Some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world! I want to be the one to walk in the sun. Oh girls, they wanna have fun. Girls just wanna have fun!_"

Chopper dashed into the restroom, flung upon a stall door, and then quickly shut it behind them. More vehemently than necessary, the leader shoved Ralph away from him, and instantly began to explain. "Okay, _Scissorman_, if you're so great, why don't you help us out now?"

"Mm? What is this I hear? Does _Chopper _require my assistance?" not really bothered by how Chopper basically tossed him down, Ralph smirked at him. "Somehow, this day keeps getting better and better."

"Yeah, until they toss our arses into jail because _you _were bored," Chopper retorted. "Therefore, _you _got us into this mess, so _you're _going to be the one to get us out of it."

"Well then, what do you want me to do? Come on, tell me."

"You know that one power you and your sister have? The one where you can take the disguise of something else?"

"So?"

"_So use your brain and put two and two together!_" Chopper growled, frustrated, but Ralph continued to play dumb, simply standing there with a purposeful confused look on his face. Tempted to strangle the jester, Chopper nearly screamed, "_Use that on us!_"

"Oh, but, . . ." Ralph started, and hearing the hints of a whine in the Scissorman's voice, Chopper frowned.

"But _what?_"

"That power always makes me so sleepy," Ralph replied. "So very, very sleepy."

". . . You've got to be kidding me."

"Yes, I am!" Ralph burst out laughing. "I just wanted to see the look on your face!"

Chopper pointed at his own face. "Ralph, this is the expression of somebody who is about to slice the head off some fool who is not only proving himself to be a pain, but also completely and utterly useless!"

"I sort of feel bad for that poor guy," Scissorman calmed himself enough to say, looking particularly smug, leaning back against the side of the stall. By now, Chopper could feel his fingers itching just to lash out and throttle his unfortunate companion, but kept himself cool enough to continue speaking with bitter tones.

"Ralph. Just. Do. It," he commanded through a set jaw, grinding his teeth. Ralph waved his hand in the air, snickering.

"Oh, stuff it, dear Chopper. I'm thinking."

"That's an interesting change," Chopper mocked back, though it seemed as if Ralph was actually using his mental capabilities for the first time that the leader had seen. The jester had his brow furrowed in deep thought, green eyes closed as he pondered the situation—of all the possibilities in which he could change their forms. Just then, when Chopper was on the last strand of his rope, Ralph snapped his fingers.

"I've got it!" he proclaimed proudly, another wide grin adorning his face. "Now, stand still, my friend. We'll be so disguised, we won't even be able to recognize ourselves!"

"Ralph, this isn't exactly my idea of a disguise."

"Can somebody recognize you as _you_?"

"I suppose not."

"Great. So hush now, and you'll see how Scissorman helped you out of that situation."

". . . I'm still going to kill you for all of this."

Chopper and Ralph stood near the exit of the restroom, peering out a little, and then drawing their heads back in to observe the other. Both were dressed in expensive looking black suits, and in fact, had both changed rather considerably physically. Chopper appeared completely older than his actual state, had shortened in height, and shorn, white hair now covered his crown. Ralph had even morphed further than this—now he'd taken on the disguise of a tall, African American male.

"I didn't even know you saw this movie," Chopper told him, expression quizzical.

"I haven't—the poster looked cool. But it would so fit for another movie. I can see it now," Ralph took a moment to pose dramatically. "Subordinates in Black! With Harold Powell staring as Agent K, and Ralph Burroughs as Agent J."

"Shut up. That is the stupidest movie idea ever," Harold rolled his eyes. "Besides, you would write the script in order to make yourself look like a total star and me like a complete idiot."

The two newly clad men left the bathroom side by side, taking in the surroundings. Finally things had started to cool down, and they were once again untracked by the masses of people still crowding the airport. Chopper moved his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and glanced over the rim. Despite how little he was willing to admit it, Ralph's choice of disguise proved rather useful, as no one seemed perturbed by their renewed presence. The Scissorman, completely aware of this fact, nudged Chopper in the side.

"What did I tell you?" Ralph snickered through his question, his sunglasses hiding the definite amusement in his eyes. "Nobody suspects a thing!"

"Do I have to tape your mouth shut, Scissorman?" Chopper chewed on his lower lip in irritation. "Because I'm seriously tired of hearing your voice."

". . . What is tape?"

There held a stunned moment of silence. Chopper cocked a brow at his companion, frown deepened. ". . . Did you actually pay any sort of attention to Robert and John when they were lecturing us on modern devices, or were you too distracted by some form of shiny object?"

At this, Ralph put his hands at his hips. "Hey, just because I have a slight problem with keeping focused doesn't mean that—look!"

Ralph pointed forward into the mass of people, and Chopper followed his gaze with a quick roll of his eyes. Coming towards them walked a girl and two other males; the girl was dressed very classy. Her fine suit looked well with a matching skirt, her black hair let down behind her. Across the bridge of her nose she used a finger to adjust her eyeglasses back into place, and in her other hand she clutched tightly to a rather large briefcase. The two males stood with one on both sides of her, except they were less fancy than her—_considerably _less fancy. In fact, they wore nothing but cheap rags, as if they didn't hold a penny to their name. Upon their chins grew tiny bits of stubble, and Chopper noted with a sniff that neither of them smelled like they'd taken a shower in _years._

Yet despite their unfamiliar appearances, Ralph's grin extended, even when Chopper thought it would be impossible for the jester to be able to accomplish a wider smile.

"Sister!" Ralph announced confidently, and made as if to start walking towards the woman. Before he could, though, a firm hand on his shoulder halted his progress, and Chopper leaned forward to whisper in his companion's ear.

"Hey stupid!" the leader hissed. "How the hell do you know that's Jemima?"

"Excuse me, dear Sir," the woman suddenly spoke up as she reached them. Apparently she'd heard the rather loud accusation, and decided to put her two cents in. "Don't you know anything?"

". . . Know anything about what?" Chopper blinked, gaze averting to match her stare. His personality forebode allowing himself to be spoken to like that without challenging the person back; even a woman. Perhaps _especially _a woman.

Ralph brushed Chopper's hand off his shoulder and went to stand beside the girl. In fact, he even allowed his weight to lean onto her shoulder, as if that wouldn't be a concern at all. His eyes twinkled with that same delight—the delight that came with knowing something that his leader didn't. ". . . Don't you know anything about the entities?"

Without waiting for a response, the woman continued. "My Lord and Master of all the Entities, how can you not be aware of this? Truly, it's upsetting that someone who upstages our position hasn't learned everything there is about the forces that control us."

"You see," Ralph picked back up again. "My sister and I, . . . we share the same entity. With that being said, the two of us can tell where the other is at any given point in time. Or, at least we can have an idea of where our sibling might be—nifty, isn't it? So even though you can't sense her entity, _I _can. Right, _Jemima_?"

"Yup," she giggled, and Ralph soon joined in on her laughter. Chopper felt his fists clench again at their mocking, but was able to resist when he remembered the two men that were alongside Scissorwoman.

"Jonathon and Robert," he said to them, and the men turned their attention towards their leader.


End file.
